


Intermezzo

by Creya



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, The Court of Dreams, scenes from velaris
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8343211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creya/pseuds/Creya
Summary: “I knew there was no coming back from what I’d done,” I said, wondering if the blue flame in the carver’s eyes might burn my ruined soul to ash.” - Chapter 18Upon returning to Valaris following their visit with the Bone Carver, Rhys is left with one question. What good is left in the world if the Cursebreaker has herself been broken?





	1. Emotions Written in Bone

Rhys wilted as soon as Feyre disappeared up the stairs for the evening. He poured himself an ample tumbler of amber liquid from a waiting decanter on the mantle and slumped into a chair by the fire. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he rested his elbows on his knees obscuring his face from his gathered court. In all honesty, he had forgotten they were still there.

Azriel caught Mor’s glance with shared look of concern, his jaw working as he sifted through the melodies the shadows sang to him. Each whisper steadily ratcheting the tension held in his shoulders. Cassian was awash with dynamic unease to her right, lacking the High Fae preternatural stillness at the best of times. He made as though make some sort of solicitous gesture. But Mor, never turning from the spymaster, placed a staying hand on the General’s wrist.

_I would have put the dagger in my own heart at the end._

Her bartered words still clanged through Rhys, divesting him of what little composure he had left. All his attempts, his machinations, had succeeded in the end. They were free. But for how long? At what cost?

“What good is left in the world if the Cursebreaker has herself been broken?” he whispered to himself, giving voice to the one fear that dogged him every waking moment.

“Out.” Mor was on her feet in an instant pivoting to face both Illyrians at once. She was the embodiment of regal authority bestowed upon her by a long lineage of High Lords that had ruled with a cruel and undoubted fist. “Now,” she hissed.

Cassian made an abortive attempt at some sort of insolent retort before Az made his way across the room to collect his brother. He ushered him towards the door in tacit agreement to see that no further interruptions happen. Azriel paused in the vestibule and looked over his shoulder at her. There was a hesitance in his eyes and a question in the tilt of his head that he didn’t voice. He had spent his whole life dedicated to the whims of her family. He wouldn’t begin to question their motives now. With a grim nod and they were both gone off to their quarters in the House of Wind or to worry the denizens of the city.

“A long day was it?” she asked, proud that nonchalance held her voice steady. The crackling of the fire chased away her words and the last vestiges of sunlight pooling on the floor. Struggling mightily against drowning in the unnatural dusk that was settling in the room.

When her question was met with silence she walked to the hearth and reached for a glass of her own bypassing the decanter for its twin, a crystal carafe enchanted to chill its contents in perpetuity. Filling the glass she reached down for the nearly empty glass in Rhys’ hand replacing it with her own.

A low chuckle greeted her. “Water? Really. It’s still early yet.” Mor released a short breath she didn’t know she was holding. Wit was a good sign. The evening might be salvaged if his cheek was still viable.

“True, but I don’t think it has been Nuala that has drastically reduced my coffers of Nevan single malt over the last few weeks.” She knelt next to his chair leaning her head against his knee. It had actually been Nuala that whispered her concerns while his attentions had been drawn elsewhere. “It is one of the few indulgences I allow myself. Stop drinking it all.” She caught his eyes dart towards her with a dubious eyebrow raised but he didn’t comment.

“I did this to her.” She blinked at him a few times, incredulous, but to also focus her vision against the seeping shadows. “I used her as a pawn to achieve my goals and abandoned her when I was done. Abused, murdered then neglected. I knew what it was doing to her. Destroying her slowly and I let her return each time.” His voice faltered as he continued, each word slowly dissolving under their own weight.

“The fault of it does not rest on your shoulders. No matter what you may think.” Mor leaned forward and threaded a hand through his. “What did the Carver pry from you?”

“It wasn’t what I sold to him. It’s what she offered on her own accord. The things she said…” He shut his eyes tight, shaking with the echos of her words in his ears.

_I just wanted enough time to turn that dagger on myself._

Violet eyes found brown ones. “I’m not sure I can save her.” Her thoughts of suicide were at arm’s reach at the best of times.

She stood and plucked the untouched water glass from his grip setting it back on the mantel. Then with a gentleness borne of empathy and sorrow, she took both his hands with her back to the fire. “Every choice you pose to her heals a bit of strength. Giving her purpose is helping.”

“Is it you or the Morrigan that thinks that?”

It was both of course but she never unnecessarily divulged what she leveraged to others. It was possible to provide wisdom without it being mystically obtained. “One can see how she holds herself when she’s expecting to be ignored only to be consulted. Valued. She comes alive in halting steps. You just have to pay attention.” With a wicked grin she expounded further. “Spend less time mooning about and I wouldn’t have to point it out to you.”

The shadows that had been dripping from him coalesced into an obscuring cloud at their feet. Perhaps she pressed on a little injudiciously. Perhaps he deserved it.

“I am the most powerful–”

She unceremoniously cut him off by shoving his hands against his chest. “Yes, yes. ‘The most powerful High Lord ever to reign in Prythian.’ We’ve all heard that proclamation before. And you especially don’t get to use it on me.”

“I do not _moon_ about.”

“Sure. We’ll go with that.” Mor gracefully turned back to the drinking set on the mantel to retrieve the glass of water. “And now you’re going to drink this. Then I’m taking you into the city for a meal. Shortly after that, I’m going to shove you off the nearest building and you’re going to fly amongst the clouds for the rest of the night. I’ll see to Cassian and Azriel.”

His glower fell at the mention of his winged brothers. “I–” He swallowed forcibly when his voice failed him. “I should speak to them.”

She leaned forward and pressed a finger to his forehead to punctuate her point. “Yes, you should,” she chastised. “But I understand your reticence. Now come on. I’m hungry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a mention that after the contentious conversation following the Bone Weaver, that Rhys and everyone else were gone that night. I then started fixating on the references to the everyone else’s whereabouts and opinions when Feyre isn’t present. I feel like the depth of the relationship between the Court is sometimes lost in sass. And I always headcannoned Mor as Rhys’ de facto sister/wingman/emotional sounding board. She's the only one he told about the bond directly.
> 
> Catch me on Tumblr at two-left-thumbs or thebitchqueenthatwaspromised.


	2. The Firedrake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The strange female voice cut him off. ‘Send your dogs out in the yard to play, Rhysand. You and I have matters to discuss.’” - Chapter 14
> 
> The High Lord returned to Velaris but he’s not alone. Rhys had unilaterally decided to interfere in inter-Court politics and Amren has a lot to say about his new pet from the Spring Court.

Amren had been kind enough to wait until the others had cleared out once they had finished demolishing the contents of the pantry.

Rhys’ hackles rose in expectation of her onslaught. “Whatever it is you are about to say, don’t.” The anger and the exhaustion were at war with his composure and it was too early to tell which side would win. He was not going to have this conversation today.

“Someone has to say it. You appointed me for a purpose and I’m here to fulfill it.” She examined her teeth in the sheen of her goblet for any traces of her breakfast staining her teeth. The nonchalance of it was maddening. “You violated some fundamental laws in bringing her here. She is the Bride of Spring stolen by―”

“She has a name and you will be wise to use it,” he cut in, knowing that interrupting Amren was a gamble.

“Her name is unimportant to those who have waited centuries for a justification to wipe your rule from the history books.” She rose a single eyebrow not pausing in her drawl as if to taunt him. _Let’s see you try that again._

“There’s no point to this. The laws were honored. I didn’t breach that bastard’s borders.”

“You think nominal adherence matters in the face of what this looks like? To them, she is a stolen bride of an opposing High Lord.” Amren paused for a moment looking as if her morning’s  goblet contained something spoiled. “And in some less discerning circles, a well-liked High Lord. To them, she is the Cursebreaker. _Their savior_ , Rhysand _._ Who has been spirited away to the seat of their every nightmare. _You._ It doesn’t matter if it was for her own good or not. It will always be seen as against her will...Go get her, and take her back.”

“I will do no such thing.” Rhys wasn’t sure when he had picked up a spoon but became aware of it as it began to slowly drip molten silver onto his empty plate. She was steadily blowing through what little tolerance he had left.

“Besides, stealing an enemy bride is so utterly cliche,” she sighed, finishing her preening with a smack of her lips. “I could throttle you for that inane bargain you made with her Under the Mountain if it weren’t for the fact that she saved your carcass. And that’s what you’ve been since you got back and just about as useful. This however, _this_ is madness. You’ve put this entire Court and the war effort at risk. We need others to stand a chance against Hybern and you’ve likely diminished any chance of that.” She paused to stab at the table with her index finger and leveled her gaze with his. “There is no way you can justify this. The cost is too high.”

“I think you’ve spoken your mind enough, Amren. I expect you to be at dinner tonight and to be a paragon of civility. We’ll see what you have to say afterwards.”

“I’ll not be changing my mind. _Go get her, and take her back._ ”

Rhys slammed his fist against the table causing the chandelier above their heads to shudder and chime. He could vaguely feel Feyre stir in her sleep upstairs and cursed the lack of his own sleep.

“We’re done here. Get. Out.”

So she did.

* * *

That evening following dinner, Rhys returned to the House of Wind shortly after dropping Feyre off at the town house. He may have taken the liberty to circle high above to clear his head. Or to avoid what he knew was going to be an interesting conversation. Thankfully the bauble he picked up this afternoon had ensured Amren’s good behavior during dinner. There was no telling what it would be without the presence of new company. 

His court was still in the dining room with tension likely the only thing keeping them in their seats. Mor was actively pinching the bridge of her nose, ensconced behind a few more bottles of wine than were present at the end of dinner. Azriel had schooled his features into a mask of wary resignation bolstered by his firm grasp on Truth-Teller at his side. Cassian was―well, Cassian’s expression was for lack of a better description vacillating somewhere between irritated and constipated.

The three of them however were united in the object of their discontent. Amren commanded the room allowing the irritation that was always in arm's reach to leak from her pores.

Cassian caught Rhys’ eye after sparing a glance for the others at the table. “Not for nothing, I liked this one.” For which he received a brisk blow upside his head as the High Lord passed. Rhys circled the table and slid into the vacated chair next to Mor.

“She’s not ready for this,” Mor sang from behind the hands on her face.

Cassian was quick to agree. “Can't we feed her a bit more for a few days before we cart her off to face the worse our Court has to offer?” Rhys rolled his eyes. Of course his first inclination was to solve a problem with food. Cass saw the world as a something to be solved with one of what he called the three “F’s”―food, fighting, or fucking. He had enough sense to know that the other two would not be wisely applied here, despite Feyre appearing particularly skeletal today.

There was a moment where no one spoke up to answer his question. He and Mor cut their eyes in tandem to Azriel in the expectation of his offered opinion. He responded with a slight shrug making sure Amren stayed in his peripheral vision. “She’s lovely, of course. I’m just not sure she is suited for Court work yet.”

“Oh come on, Az. Court work? It’s not like she’s about lead armies or administer the Court of Nightmares.” Mor punctuated her statement by reaching for another serving of wine magically poured into her awaiting glass.

Cassian leaned back in his chair to better see Az over the tiny form of between them. “He’s just pissed off she gets to visit his beau the Bone Carver instead him.” Mor groaned in disgust and even Azriel appeared a bit green.

“Enough of this foolishness.” Amren had been silent up until then. “Rhys, dismiss your pups and take me home.”

“You’re going to let her talk to us like that?” Cassian demanded, shifting in his seat but otherwise making no real advance in her direction.  

“At the moment, Cassian, I can’t seem to care.” Rhys pressed his thumbs against the underside of his eyebrows. It had been a long enough day as it was. He could live without the squabbling.

Mor downed the last bit of her wine and pushed away from the table. Without breaking contact with the glass, she mimed her request to be dismissed to Rhys over the crystal rim. He waved her off and she obligingly made her way for her quarters within the House. Azriel like clockwork stood and usher himself and Cassian in the same direction his cousin had disappeared. They were probably not spending the night on the town today. Weariness seemed to be catching.  

Once alone, Amren refocused her unnerving glare on him. The intensity would have melted lesser males. “I’m not sure how you managed to be so Cauldron-blessed but I can’t argue with results.”

Rhys laughed ruefully, “We may have to reassess your definition of blessed.”

“You’re blessed because I have been proven wrong for the one and only time this millennia. You can justify your lust-addled kidnapping after all. She’s your _mate._ ”

“Can we not do this now?” 

“I had already asked to go home, boy. My staying here is entirely predicated on you not taking me.”

“‘Boy’ is most definitely not an appropriate address for your High Lord.”

“What can I say? If you haven’t been able to train me after all these centuries, I don’t think you’ll make any progress now.” A vicious grin split her features. Rhys quickly added Amren’s jokes to the list of things he could live without.

“You need to get her to accept the bond immediately. Freeing your mate from marrying another might be enough to spare even a High Lord from an armed incursion.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Alright, I’ll bite. Whyever not?” She leaned forward resting her head on her knuckles.

For a moment Rhys didn’t breathe. His heart may not have beat. “I’ve destroyed enough of myself for this court. I’m not destroying this too,” he said quietly.

The irritation that had been radiating off of her tempered her expression of resolute boredom didn’t change. “I’d like to go home now.” Inwardly, Rhys slumped in relief. As far as she was concerned, the subject had been closed.

“Now that you mention it,” Rhys inquired, remembering Amren’s late arrival to the House. “How exactly did you get here in the first place?”

“I felt like a walk.”

“Of course you did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got a bit out of hand. Also I've now lost any chronological order. The scenes just had to be written. Meh, I'll figure it out.
> 
> So I think we can all agree that Amren is a "thou shall not take shit" type of person and won't hesitate to dish it. If Mor is Rhys' sister/confidant, I feel like Amren is more the balance to the Dreamers. Bringing them back to reality. Politeness costs extra.


End file.
